


Suddenly, A Familiar Song

by fengirl88



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Fix-It, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:17:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fengirl88/pseuds/fengirl88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade’s seen a lot of romcoms, for his sins.  Never thought he’d find himself in the middle of one, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suddenly, A Familiar Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grassle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grassle/gifts), [second_skin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_skin/gifts).



> Spoilers for S3 Episode 2, The Sign of Three, from which this departs significantly.
> 
> This one is for grassle and second_skin, who requested something like it; thank you for the inspiration!

Lestrade’s seen a lot of romcoms, for his sins. Never thought he’d find himself in the middle of one, though.

His mum loved a good romcom, and towards the end, when talking was impossible, he’d sit through her favourites with her. He _knows_ this scene: it’s the bit in _Two Weeks Notice_ where Sandra Bullock leaves her best friend’s wedding for Hugh Grant’s so-called emergency, which turns out to be not knowing which tie to wear.

Except that it’s _him_ now, leaving a crime scene where they’ve finally caught the bloody Waters gang in the act, and haring across London to Baker Street with an armed response team. Only to find that Sherlock’s emergency is that he’s stuck on his best man’s speech for Watson’s wedding…

 _Fuck_. Lestrade wakes up sweating, in a tangle of twisted sheets and blankets. As nightmares go, that one was a belter. What you get for eating cheese last thing before bed. Really ought to know better, but he’d been a bit sloshed when he got in last night from celebrating the Waters arrest with his team, and he’d just felt like a snack.

It’s not even as if he’d had that much to drink. Honestly, he’s getting to be almost as much of a lightweight as Sherlock and John. The less said about the mess those two had got themselves into on John’s stag night the better.

At least by now Sherlock must have his blasted speech in the bag, so they can all stop worrying and just enjoy the day.

Famous last words.

As a public speaker, Sherlock is a fucking liability. Rambling, rude, and excruciatingly embarrassing. Lestrade spends a lot of the speech wanting to hide under the table, and from the looks of frozen horror and disbelief on the faces around him, he’s not the only one. Bits of it are unexpectedly touching, in a way he wouldn’t have expected from Sherlock, but then the whole thing goes off the rails again. Sherlock starts ranting about someone called Mayfly Man, announces that there’s a murderer at the wedding, and jumps over the table in pursuit of the murder victim, with the bride and groom chasing after him…

Once the chaos has died down, Lestrade makes the arrest and calls for backup, trying not to think about imaginary helicopters outside the windows of 221b. Sherlock seems to have brought his own handcuffs, which is lucky, since Lestrade didn’t assume he’d need his at a bloody _wedding_.

Later, he watches the police car drive off carrying Jonathan Small, the Mayfly Man and substitute photographer, and then turns back to the reception. The dancing’s still going on, so he hasn’t missed the whole of the party.

He’d know that familiar shape anywhere, even before the swirl of the coat as Sherlock pulls it around him.

“Sherlock, what are you doing out here?”

“Leaving,” Sherlock says. He must be in a bad way; doesn’t even bother to sneer at Lestrade for failing to deduce the obvious.

“You can’t leave,” Lestrade says. “You’re the best man.”

“Mary’s pregnant,” Sherlock says.

Right. That changes things, more than it looked as if the wedding would by itself. But still…

“You said you wouldn’t let him down,” Lestrade reminds him.

He can feel Sherlock wincing – bit of a low blow, that, but it’s true. Can’t have the best man disappearing when the reception’s still in full swing.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go back inside.”

Back inside and out of reach of temptation. It would be so easy to give in now, and he’s been trying so hard not to.

“Cigarette,” Sherlock demands, sticking his hand out. “I know you’ve got them on you.”

Damn.

“Only got one left,” Lestrade says.

Sherlock makes a small impatient movement and sighs heavily.

“Oh, all right then,” Lestrade grumbles. “Here you are.”

Sherlock takes the cigarette and drops the empty packet in a flowerbed.

“Oi!” Lestrade says.

“Someone will clear up tomorrow, it’s all paid for,” Sherlock says dismissively.

“Maybe so, but that’s no excuse –”

“Are you going to light this or not?” Sherlock snaps.

Lestrade fumbles with his lighter, which seems to be sulking but eventually produces a grudging flame. Sherlock’s face looks even more unearthly than usual in the wavering light, as he breathes in until the tip of the cigarette crackles and glows into life. He takes another long drag, and then passes the cigarette to Lestrade. 

Well, that was unexpected. Lestrade assumed Sherlock was going to smoke the whole thing, with his usual disregard for others. He’s a bit taken aback, but he’s not going to say no if the offer’s there. Pity he didn’t have two cigarettes, he thinks wryly: they could have done the end of _Now, Voyager_. As it is…

As it is, they smoke Lestrade’s last cigarette between them, passing it to and fro and listening to the music coming from the reception. Either it’s got louder or someone’s opened a window.

“Sentimental drivel,” Sherlock says, grinding the cigarette butt underfoot as if he’s trying to push it into the earth.

Lestrade wouldn’t have thought _I Say A Little Prayer For You_ was John or Mary’s taste either, but maybe someone else has nobbled the DJ. Appropriate, though: the last time he heard this was the end of that film with Rupert Everett and Julia Roberts his mum had made him sit through twice. _My Best Friend’s Wedding_.

“The moves of a jungle cat,” he says, half to himself, and grins.

“What?” Sherlock says. “Don’t be absurd, it can’t possibly be called that.”

Lestrade opens his mouth to explain, but thinks better of it. Popular culture and Sherlock aren’t a great mix at the best of times.

“Ready to go back in?”

“You go back in if you want to,” Sherlock says, a bit sulkily. “Join the happy couples.”

“Or we could just dance out here,” Lestrade says. Must be the champagne talking.

“Really,” Sherlock says, as if he thinks Lestrade’s taking the piss.

“No law against it,” Lestrade says.

An unexpected rumble of a laugh from Sherlock.

“Go on then, George,” he says. “Do your worst.”

“It’s Greg,” Lestrade says. “As you well know, you cheeky sod. C’mere.”

He pulls Sherlock into his arms, coat and all.

Rupert Everett was right, Lestrade thinks, as they sway to the music, awkwardly at first and then more smoothly. There may not be marriage, there may not be sex (though he wouldn’t entirely rule it out, the way Sherlock’s pressing against him); but by God, there’ll be dancing.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and some lines quoted from Rupert Everett's [speech](http://clarasteam.tumblr.com/post/72388767062/suddenly-a-familiar-song-and-youre-off-your) as George, at the end of _My Best Friend's Wedding_. 
> 
> I'm not the only one whose mind went there - for a very cheering and very different fix-it, check out frozen_delight's fic [My Best Friend's Wedding.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1122558)
> 
> There is now a sequel to this from Sherlock's point of view, [Cloud Dancing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4122979).


End file.
